Novelty
by Agent Evey
Summary: Old feelings stir after a winter party.


Mirth and laughter tainted the air as Helen Magnus made her way toward the exit of a large and decorous room, weary and more then ready to see the end of an enthralling but well-worn evening. She had been obligated to attend an annual winter gala that night, held by a local wildlife fundraising organization that- privately and far out of the public eye -donated a large sum of its profits to the Sanctuary network. Only a few individuals knew the extent of what she did in her line of work, but the organization's generosity was enough to inspire her gratitude and to prompt her yearly attendance. Those aware of the abnormal network received a private conference detailing how their respective donations had benefited the Sanctuary's effort over the past year. Everyone else received her distant thanks and attentive presence at the affair.

The gala's decor was elaborate; the winter theme extending throughout all of the major rooms and hallways. The lighting was dark and alluring, filled with inky blues and purples which were occasionally offset by twinkling silver speckles of false starlight. Large white trees made of plaster and wood were scattered throughout the area to give the event a woodland appeal and false snow and ice sculptures added to the frozen setting. The dining area and bar were equally alluring, shining with silver-white plate-ware that was set along lengthy tables which swirled like dancers around a large frozen punch fountain. Beyond it, the accompanying ballroom gleamed with visions of arctic twilight as couples on the dance-floor shimmered like spirits across the graceful expanse of darkness. Even the limousine that was sent to pick her up carried the same inclusive theme. All of it was wonderful and all very beautiful beautiful but the night began to lose its charm after several hours in heels and a less than warming dress in the dry, frozen air.

Somewhere around ten-o-clock, deep, hollow eyes, eyes that had been shadowing Helen's presence all evening, noticed her discomfort. He, too, was growing tired of the waning event, but for different reasons.

John's breath was heavy with the scent and arrack, a Sri Lankan brew that he was happy to find in stock at the evening's wet-bar. The drink was a rare treat; it recalled the libations of his own time and he was sure that James had played a part in its presence here tonight. The talented detective had likely attended the event in previous years, no doubt filling the same role as Helen's escort for the night. A swallow found him shifting with unease; he was fond of James, and grateful for the care that he had offered Helen in the early days of White Chapel, but the idea of their coupling had always left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Not that he had any right to feel bitter, he thought as he swirled the glass of arrack within his hand and took another sip. James had considered him all but dead at the time, a justifiable assumption. In those days, he was nowhere to be found- trapped as he was within the Ripper's grasp, a reigning king of death. When he finally managed to gain some control over himself, it was far too late. Even now, decades later, that control was fragile and came in volatile spurts. Helen understood that and embraced it in some regards, knowing now of the creature that inhabited his body-but it did not make things between them any easier. The past was the past and it haunted them both.

Still, Helen did not shy away from him when she wanted his help. She had asked him to attend that night as both a designated member of the five and her unofficial escort for the night. It was a public event, many knew that she would be coming and not all of them would be her allies. He was there as back-up, and had agreed to the job without hesitance. Helen always came prepared, in that she had never changed, and he was nothing if not willing to promote her safety.

Arctic eyes narrowed as he watched her shift and raise her head to catch sight of him. When she found him near the bar, her silver heels clicked above the music in approach. From a distance, they looked like any normal couple: she a chilling vision in silver and blue, and he a courtly gentleman in a in a sharply tailored suit. Her dress clung to her in graceful waves and complemented the theme of the night, while his coat was cut long and hearkened another time. It had been age since either had seen each other in such fashionable dress; neither had complaints.

He bent down low as she murmured in his ear, then his head quirked sideways in reaction to her words. They appeared to disagree for a moment before he finally relented and left to do her bidding. She sighed, then turned on one heel to go and say her goodbyes.

Barely ten minutes later John tilted his head back onto the large leather cushion behind him; his head swam in circles and the ride was doing little to help. At some point, he had lost track of the number of drinks he had consumed- an easy mistake to make when surrounded by poor company. Those who had approached him during the night had quickly lost interest-he ignored most, unwilling to rattle his carefully cultivated reservoir of barely tempered creature within him had been tame since his latest jolt with death and he wanted to keep it that way. Things became difficult when he caught sight of others approaching his treasured ward with interests in taking her home for the night. He was not naive enough to believe that she did not entertain lovers, but found no joy in having the idea shoved in his face. They came to her like starving dogs, and though, in the end, she had turned every one of them away, he had sickened at the thought of each encounter. Alcohol was his only boon as he watched on in possessive agony. Only one man had received his personal attention, though John felt that it was justified.

All thoughts shifted as he caught sight of her dazzling attire approaching him through the one-way window. When Helen stepped into the proffered door of the stretch limousine, he responded accordingly, his profile sharp as he leaned to help her into the cabin.

Once settled, she titled to speak toward the front of the long room. "Take us home, Jason. Thank you." She said to the driver, then pressed a button to raise the privacy partition.

When she finally turned to John, she found him raising his eyebrows in question.

"Don't look at me like that," the crease in her brow deepened as she eyed him distinctly. "I know the EM shields are down but there were too many people who knew of my presence for us to use your ability. Having me disappear would have raised more questions than I feel like answering at the moment."

John's laughter rang like bells, "Why not add one more puzzle piece to the slew of mysteries you've already thrown at them?" He mused as he straightened his back.

Her expression was halfway between amusement and annoyance. "It's a necessary precaution. Believe me, I'm more than ready to be home and given the traffic tonight, we've a long ride ahead of us."

"Fine," he huffed, "I can enjoy the novelty well enough." He was not in the mood to try his luck with her patience tonight, nor did he want to risk aggravating his own. His long fingers began to tinker with the control board in front of him, curious to see what luxuries it offered.

Eventually, his meddling proved fortuitous. Without warning, the ambient light within the cabin left. There was darkness at first, then a long blue panel on the ceiling lit up to display a brilliant imitation of a glowing night sky, full of constellations and stardust. The light at the bar dimmed and pulsed, shining through the fractals of crystal glass with silver glee.

"How about that?" he said as his eyes wandered over the jewels of light that twinkled across the roof of the cabin. A smile found him and he looked to see her reaction.

"Our own private planetarium," she said, gazing around in wonder. Her hand lifted to point at a pattern of light, "there's Cepheus."

"And his lady Cassiopeia," John chimed in, "Perseus, Pegasus…"

"Lacerta and Orion," she continued with a nod, "this is quite detailed."

"It's remarkable," he agreed with open enchantment, "can you imagine if we'd had this back then?"

"I think it still would have paled in comparison to some of the skies we've seen." Her voice was open, honest.

A small smile, like a twinkle of starlight, dawned upon her lips. He caught it and hummed his agreement. Then his gaze intensified, intrigued by her lightness.

"Would you care for a drink?" he said, rising as his spidery arms drifted to the bar in front of them.

Her head quirked, "haven't you had enough for one night?"

"Hardly after that affair." he commented dryly as he poured himself a glass of cognac, "you had the lot of them lapping at your feet like mongrels, wondering who you really are."

"I'm just glad that you left everyone in one piece. What about that one man, Daryl, was it? Don't think I didn't see you wandering off with him."

His face rose at the memory of it. The bloke in question had gotten himself good and drunk before approaching Helen. It did not take long for John to notice. A firm grasp to the back of the neck saw the man facing a different direction and several steps into an empty room found him diving head first into the nearest urinal at a grocery mart several miles away.

He cleared his throat, "I've done him no permanent harm."

"Where is he?"

"Spending a penny at a Safeway on the east side." he explained further. "If you must know."

The Victorian phrase did not escape her notice. Her eyes grew sharp, "where is he exactly."

John heaved a great sigh. "He was thoroughly pissed," he explained in proper British form, "so I left him to dry in the nearest urinal. He'll want for a shower in the morning but is otherwise intact. Happy now?"

"That's revolting, John," she said, her expression deadpan.

"That's rather the point."

The smile she offered was chagrined.

"Oh, come now," he looked her up and down. "You must, at least, find some humor..."

Helen shook her head at first, but then her face shrank beneath her hair and she chuckled despite herself. "You always did have a flair for the ironic."

"Mmm," he agreed, leaning closer as he took a sip of cognac, "and I always will." He eyed her for a moment, then took another sip of his drink before setting it down.

"We've come a long way from sharing a carriage," he said as the alcohol flowed warmly through his body.

"Indeed we have." Her smile was gray, her thoughts in line with his own. "Thank you for coming tonight, John. It means a lot to me, it would have meant a lot to James, too. "

She watched as a shadow passed over his eyes. "The man despised me, in the end," he said sadly.

"I don't think he could. He missed you as much as you missed him. Spoke of you often, when he thought I wasn't listening." She paused to gaze up at the false stars, "especially to Ashley. James had her half-convinced that you had been some sort of knight in shining armor. The two of you were dear friends."

His jaw clenched and she could see the war behind his eyes-anger for the things that he had lost and love for the joy of their existence. "Thank you for telling me." He managed to say with tightened lips before. His mouth worked back and forth after that, chewing at his inner lip. It was a tell-tale sign that he was preparing to fight the creature off.

Whether it was the wine, the evening, or simply her growing fatigue, Helen did not know, but she leaned into him then and kissed the side of his temple. When she backed away, she found that she had won the battle for him. His face was still and contemplative, and all signs of anguish had vanished. "I'll never regret that you gave her to me, John." She added softly.

His heart swelled and attraction overwhelmed him. Before either of them knew it his mouth was tracing butterfly circles along her jaw.

"John," she whispered, her body going rigid as she closed her eyes. An arm rose to gently push his shoulder away, signaling her dissent, "please."

It was enough to convey her message. He stopped halfway up the trail of her neckline and withdrew far enough to catch her eyes, one arm still bracing his body as it hovered over her own.

A measure of silence fell between them as John stared at her, swirling his gaze with hers as he tried to read the storm-clouds in her eyes. An echoing sigh filled the cabin, then his lips parted to reveal his hollow voice. "I'm not going to take anything you're not willing to give, Helen." he said as he pulled away entirely and sat back within the seat. "Perhaps I read the wrong signals."

He had always been able to read her. In their earlier days she had praised him for the ability, now it served as a point of annoyance.

A lithe hand found his arm; it drew his immediate attention.

There was still an honesty between them; a line that kept them truthful when things really mattered. That line blurred a little in the heat of their crossfire, but it never truly broke. "I do want that from you-more often than you think," she admitted shakily. She sighed and pushed her head further back into the seat cushion, angling her neck in disappointment, "I just can't come to terms with what it means."

"I know," he said, hanging his head ruefully.

Her emotions shriveled with his and the bitterness hovered between them like a strangled fog. It was not the first time they had held discourse on the subject, nor would it be the last. She had even dreamed the conversation on several occasions and each time he asked the same defining question: "do you love me?" The real John, the actual flesh and blood, did not have to ask. He knew, and it bothered her. She wanted the chance to answer him; to scream at the top of her lungs that she hated what he stood for and that her love for him had died with the past. Whatever her wishes, he had never generated the opportunity for her to proclaim such a lie. Precisely because it was one.

It seemed a crime to call it love because it was something _more_ than that. What occurred between them long ago was potent enough to endure the tragedy of several lifetimes, strong enough to defy her own well woven sense of logic, and it scared her. Not because she was afraid of him, but because she was afraid of herself. She was standing on the ancient foundation of a relationship built using her own strength and will. It was fractured and well weathered, but still undeniably there and it stood as as a testament to a raw power within her that even she questioned. Who was she, that she could shake the wills of god-like men? That she controlled the world of abnormals? The search for power and equality had begun long ago, bolstered and encouraged by the individual with whom she now shared a seat. Once found, however, it had lead to his disgrace.

"Please don't go down that path." The voice shook her out of her thoughts, He had been watching the memories flash across her face, one phantom weaving into another, and knew the inevitable conclusion. She was on a fast track towards pitying him and feeling guilty for her part in his transformation. It was the last thing he wanted.

Helen's face darkened. "Every time we try to make this work, you always kill again. I know it's not all you, but sometimes I wonder whether or not the next string of murders is because we've parted once more. You're emotions feed directly into the elemental's energy source; they catalyze your actions."

"They also hold the creature back," he said in a beat, "believe me Helen, if you had not been there; I would have killed many more."

"That may be true but it doesn't follow that I should excuse your crimes."

"I never said that it did." he set his elbows on his knees, hunching over as he spread his fingers out to gesture helplessly into the air, "I'm in control _now_, Helen; that's all I know. I have to take this moment by moment; steal away with whatever joy I can grasp. You are well aware of that now."

"I am," she nodded soberly.

John's eyes softened, eager to offer at least some comfort. "It's longer than before, at least; five or six weeks if I'm lucky." He said with a waning smile, weary as a sunset. What happened after was always undesirable, the inevitable hunt for blood and search for treatment.

"Then more will die."

"Perhaps," he closed his eyes and tented his fingers on his temples as he heaved a great sigh. "I am become Sisyphus." He said theatrically, "If I live, I kill; if I die, the creature will be free to spread its terror by other means. There is no simple solution. When it took over your Sanctuary it was desperate, afraid, and uncomfortable. If parted from me again, I believe that it would seek another host, killing many before it found an appropriate home. Not many could take it as I do, even with my faults. It'll want another vampire, or at least another abnormal; humans lack the strength of mind and body. You and Nikola would be the most vulnerable targets; the creature already knows who and what you are."

The line of her head tilted. "You sound like you're trying to warn me, John."

He swallowed, "I just want you to be prepared. We are facing dangerous times. As much as I despise Tesla, I would never wish that devil upon him and I certainly would do everything within my power to prevent it from infecting you."

"Nikola would be more likely, he has his own set of electromagnetic abilities." Her curls bounced as she shook her head in wonder, "God, could you imagine?"

"No," he replied, "I couldn't. His ambitions are already large enough."

They shared a fragile smile.

The conversation faded. John set his gaze on the window as he watched the lights float by. Helen had been right about the traffic, it was slow and heavy on this particular winter's night. There were flurries of snow in the air but no accumulation yet and everyone was trying to scurry home before the weather worsened. Druitt closed his eyes and craned his neck against the back of the seating, enjoying this moment of peace with her, however small, and however brief.

The steel blue of her eyes washed over him as he tried to rest, attempting to gauge his true state of mind. It was rare to see him in such a conscious state of peace; normally he looked more distracted, as if trying to fight off whatever impulses the creature constantly planted into his mind. Under this more docile expression, she could see subtle traces of the lover she had lost long ago, visible in lingering youth. The smile lines were still there, fading but present. He used to smile often, she thought as memories flashed behind the veil of her gaze, and much more fully. There was a time when she thought that she would die beneath the treasure of that smile, old and happy with her life. How well she missed that ignorance.

A blink found her looking into his eyes again as he caught her staring. She did not avert her gaze, though she could feel her throat tighten with weight of ancient tears. Some feelings just could not be buried deep enough.

The expanse of chest rose and he lifted a hand to trace her cheek, thumb smoothing over the weight beneath her eyes, as he tried to erase the hardness he had put there so long ago.

"I _am_ here now," he intoned lowly, "it _is_ me."

She met him with silent sadness, eyes boring into his as she swallowed the memories away.

"I want it to be," her words wafted like a mist, small and daring. A light pressure met his hands as her fingers brushed his palm, and he shivered at her silken touch.

His own touch deepened and drifted down her arm to catch her fingers. A question ebbed from within his gaze, flowing into her with wordless grace. "Then may I have this last dance, Miss Magnus?" he intoned, eyes alien and ethereal, his voice recalling another time, a different party, long ago.

"You may," she nodded, in tune with the memory.

What had changed within her, he could not know; did not care to know as long as it brought her to him. He watched intently as she wavered closer, tilting her head forward to hover over his lips. Her breath washed over him like an evening rain, her eyes fluttering closed like the tiniest of wing-beats. It was up to him to close the gap between them, but he lingered for a moment, soul swelling with a mixture of love and self pity as he studied her face. He longed for a time when he could have spoken his heart to her freely, but those days were long past them. He settled on placing his forehead next to hers as he whispered into her ear.

"Helen," his words came in a breeze before his head slipped back to meet her lips.

The tempo was slow at first, gentle and soothing; and for a while there was nothing but the hum of distant music and the sound of clicking kisses as they molded together with sighs of relief and fingers traced constellations into her palm as he met her beat for beat. They moved as ancient beings, creatures that had learned long ago to take nothing for granted. The drive increased in pace, narrowing their time together as traffic became less dense. Despite this, he seemed intent on kissing her into eternity, unwilling or unable take their encounter any further. It was both endearing and frustrating. One hand braced itself against his shoulder, snaking around to encompass his neck while the other clasped at his fingers and guided his touch below her midriff.

He needed no more prompting. Softly, he lowered them both, pressing her into the suppleness of the couch with fervent grace as he brought them over the line of subtle chastity and into another realm altogether. His touch descended further, reaching down to grasp at the area above her knee before his hand doubled back and began to slide upward, silently granting her a pleasure she rarely allowed him to give.

Helen flowered before him, legs opening to accept the heat of his offer. His mouth covered hers and he swallowed her gasp as his fingers found her center, slipping into her with reverent grace. A brow rose at the dampness he felt there, more potent than one might naturally expect so early in their game. He recognized the reaction for what it was, a testament to deeper desires and emotions kept well hidden throughout the night. That she felt the need to conceal such things from him, remained a heartfelt sorrow, but he understood why and knew that this moment of rawness between them was a fleeting, delicate thing.

Encouragement came in the notion that she was sharing herself with him now, moving rhythmically against him as he sought to incite her pleasure. He vowed to use the time to create as wonderful of a memory as he could, something both could use to wash away the pain of their history.

There was a window in front of them, and though it only ran one way he maintained a sense of decorum in front of it. However old fashioned it might have seemed, he was not going to risk even the _idea_ of exposing her to the public eye and so kept away from her clothing. She had unbuttoned his shirt and was trailing her way up and down his chest but that was as far as he dared to take it.

The interlude was a quiet endeavor; a testament to the many hushed nights of their shared past-times before he had acquired the ability to teleport, when they struggled to keep their bond a secret. Tonight was all about touch and taste and feeling; inky eyes and heated skin. Helen found herself maddened by the lure of it, intoxicated by the familiarity of his scent. He smelled of orange spice and clove-oil, of cedar trees and arrack, of golden days and frosty nights, and of a life unfinished-a home she would never know.

The energy within her tensed, swirling and heightening in sinful waves of pressure as her grasp tightened. Physically, he was undoing her; one hand drifting over her body, light and tantalizing, while the other ushered her to the point of ecstasy. He recalled her pleasures well, knew exactly where to press and how to elicit the greatest response. The time between them had not changed that.

Her breath shortened and shuddered, and he found himself moaning into the crook of her neck. She tried to kiss him, to reassure him, but found her lips paralyzed as her body tensed, clenching and freezing in his grasp.

He heard her try to stifle her cry as she bit into his shoulder, hands gripping at his back to the point of breaking skin before, at last, she slackened and shuddered beneath him.

Firelight flickered behind the scrim of her eyes as he pressed a string of kisses around her neck and he pulse raced as she fought to regain her composure. When she finally stilled she found him smiling at her, adoration and warmth ebbing off of him. She did not smile back, but instead leaned in to kiss the flowing hollow of his neck before dipping her head down to rest below his chin.

"Are you alright?" He asked, momentarily confounded.

Her response was to tuck her head in further, though she managed a small nod.

John's lips moved to graze the softness of her hair and he sheltered his vision with heavy lids. She was tired-had already been long before his ministrations-and now was even more so. The beauty of the night would soon end; he was now on borrowed time.

They stayed that way for a few minutes. John thought he felt a dampness on his skin that signaled the presence of tears, but he dared not speak a word. Whatever her emotions were, they were no longer his to confront. Doubtless, she wanted him to leave once they returned. Things usually went that way

He thought to inquire about the issue, but when prompted to speak, his words became lodged in his throat. Pale eyes flew open and he strained a small cry of surprise as he felt the sudden pressure of her fingers at his groin. A thin, spidery hand quickly moved to grasp her wrist, squeezing it gently as he angled his chest away from her. When her eyes locked with his in confusion, he sent a small nod toward the window.

Beyond the one-way glass, bathed in silver-cold moonlight, she noted the familiar silhouette of the Sanctuary's looming mass.

A frown stole her features but before she could summon her voice, he bent down to take her lips. When he pulled away again, they were moving past the gates and there was was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes.

"You need not worry about me," he said soothingly, "I'll be fine. Unless, of course..."

"Yes?"

He made a strained face, unsure of how she would react. "Unless you want me to stay," he finished, a nervous twinge in his voice. "I would honor that, as well."

"Well, as you would say Mr. Druitt," her whisper feathered into his ear as the car jolted to a stop. The light force saw her lips brushing against the sensitive skin at his earlobe and she felt his instinctive shiver. "I can certainly enjoy the novelty."

He kissed her again, just enough to signal his approval before the driver opened the door. A brisk wind came to meet them as they stepped into the open air, timid snowflakes rushing by to grace their reddened faces. The warmth of his coat fell around her shoulders and, once alone, he weaved his arms about her from behind. They stood for a moment, clouds of breath swirling together within the glowing cold as both looked upward to admire the sky. The stars shivered like silken embers in the quiet darkness, glimmering with ancient beauty.

"You're right," John spoke against the tightness in his throat.

"About what," Helen queried lowly, her mind lost in stardust.

"That panel," he said as he felt her hand squeezed his arm, "it pales in comparison to the skies we've seen."

At the last of the words, they disappeared into a dense ring of energy, leaving only the stars to marvel at the passing of the night.


End file.
